A True Knight
by nooneushudknow
Summary: When young Lancelot is forced out of his house with no explanation, he wonders what his parents are really up to. A story of what happened to Lancelot's village and why he journeyed to become a knight of Camelot.


"Lancey!"

Lancelot groaned and turned over on his bed.

"Lancelot!" This time the hissing was sharper, causing Lancelot to half-open one of his eyes.

"Put a shirt on and follow me," his mother whispered sweetly when she realized that he was finally awake.

Lancelot usually loved to wake up to see his mother's beautiful hazel irises, but today he was too tired to even function the rush in her voice.

Lazily, Lancelot crawled out of bed and made his way to his wardrobe.

"Lancelot, please." His mother pleaded with such distraught that Lancelot gazed at his mother in his half-conscious state.

With a little more speed, Lancelot grabbed his shirt and swiftly placed it over his exhausted body.

"Is something wrong, mother?"

His mother watched him sullenly. "I'll explain to you after you're done," she replied and walked out of his bedroom into the living room.

Lancelot never liked that reply; it meant waiting longer for an answer he just wanted right then, but he still kept his mouth shut. He didn't want to displease his mother any more than she seemed to be.

"Come here," his mother insisted from the other room.

Lancelot paced out of his room to where his mother was. She patted the seat next to her invitingly.

"Today is going to be a bit extraordinary." Seeing Lancelot's questioning look as he sat next to her, she continued on.

"Think of it as a day where you are going to be able to start your journey."

"You mean the journey of education?"

His mother laughed and stared down at Lancelot lovingly.

"No, to start a journey of your own."

Lancelot gave his mother a worried expression.

"You mean you want me to move out of the house? Is this because I hit your special dish with the stick I found? I promise I won't do it again!"

"Of course not. Think of it more as understanding the world around you a little better."

"But I'm so young! I'm only ten!"

"You're almost eleven."

"And I'm still young!"

"But you're growing up."

She grinned when Lancelot was stumped.

"I want you to go, realize what you've been missing on all these years."

"But you're still kicking me out of the house."

"Not in a bad way."

"Then in what way?"

His mother hesitated. "In a way that will help you realize the possibilities for the future."

"Mother!"

"I'm not giving another lecture, I'm just answering you as honestly as I could."

"Well it sounds like a lecture to me, but either way I don't want to hear this, especially before dawn. I'm going back to sleep."

Before he could get up from his sitting place, his mother grabbed his wrist and tightened it. "You're going to go now." Though she only gave Lancelot a firm tone, he was still surprised that his mother would say something like that. He looked up at his mother and realized that she had softened.

"Don't worry, Lancey. I'll always be right..." she pointed to the middle of Lancelot's chest. "Here."

Lancelot couldn't help but to giggle despite of himself, not only because of his mother's ticklish touch, but also because he felt like he had the need to lift some if his anxiety off of his chest. Sure he thought of what he would be doing in the future, but he never really considered going anywhere, especially at an age where he still had a hard time deciding what bread he wanted for breakfast. Suddenly, he was in the mood for some food, but he decided to wait until later.

Suddenly, he remembered something else. "How about father? Does he know about this?"

"Of course Lancey and he understands."

"I still feel like you're kicking me out of the house."

"It's only for the best. I know it might seem hard to handle, but you won't regret it."

Lancelot thought it over. "Is there going to be other children like me out there?"

"Goodness, of course! Think of all the different friends you'll make."

Lancelot sat up straighter just thinking of having friends. There was never anyone his age in the village. Instead, he would talk to whoever he saw, from the baker to the blacksmith to sometimes the crazy cat lady, not that it was a bad thing.

"I've made up my mind," Lancelot said gleefully. "I'll go."

His mother gave him her big smile. There was nothing that made Lancelot happier than to see that smile.

"I'm glad you understand. Now would you like me to help you pack your things?"

"I would like that a lot! Just one thing?"

"Yes?"

"Can I first have some pumpkin bread?"

"Well that didn't take you long to decide."

Lancelot grinned. "Because maybe I'm growing up."

She cleaned the dishes quickly, keeping her eyes on the center of the glass. Usually, when she felt anxious, Mirabelle did an extra set of chores to get her mind away from her troubles, but for some reason, she couldn't think of anything other than her son. As much as she knew what was right for him, she couldn't help but to feel like she abandoned him completely.

But she couldn't afford worrying about him. Not now.

Before she could continue having a conversation with herself, a tall man walked into the kitchen. He was handsome with a muscular complexion. His blue eyes contrasted greatly with his tanned skin and dark brown hair.

"Hello, beautiful." He leaned against the door frame and gave her his mischievous grin.

Though she loved his smile, she continued to clean the dishes furiously.

"Come on, I know something is wrong."

"Everything is fine."

"Seeing you murder those poor objects hardly makes me think you're remotely okay."

Mirabelle sighed. "Hadrian, I'm just worried that Lancelot is going to be found out."

"Mirabelle." Hadrian smoothly paced over to her and grasped one of her working hands. She stopped and stared at his large, strong hand over her own skinny one.

"You sent him South, didn't you?" He asked.

"Of course."

"Then he should be fine."

He grabbed the dish she was holding and placed it down. He moved his hand slowly up her arm until it was on her shoulder.

"As always, you are thinking of others before yourself. What are you going to do on your possible last day?"

Mirabelle hesitated as Hadrian kissed her neck. She was so worried thinking about Lancelot that she didn't even consider that it might be the end for her.

"I don't know," she responded truthfully.

"Maybe you should spend some time with me," Hadrian purred in her ear.

"Only some. I would like to see some of the villagers, so don't get too excited."

Hadrian gave her puppy eyes and started to pout.

"Hadrian, it might be everybody's last day too!"

Hadrian's emotion changed immediately, into one of seriousness.

"I don't understand why they would stay even after I told them to leave. When I told them what I caused."

"It is not your fault. You know how they are; they want pretty things that they can't have, and the village understands that."

"I guess, but look what they'll do to us because of it. To the whole village."

"It was inevitable for it to happen as soon as your father handed it to you."

"And I wish I had the opportunity to hand it to my son without getting him hurt."

Mirabelle grasped Hadrian's hand and squeezed it gently.

"Your son doesn't need it."

Hadrian released a heavy sigh. "If it means saving his life, then of course he doesn't need it."

Mirabelle lifted her feet and pressed her lips gently against his. "So what were you talking about spending time with me?"

Hadrian's playful grin spread across his face once more. "Nothing that needs to be discussed about."

Lancelot tripped over a root and caught himself before face-planting the ground, but he didn't particularly pay attention. He was too busy thinking about where he wanted to go. Since Lancelot never went anywhere outside of the village, he had a vague idea of what was really around him. Lancelot wished that his mother had at least packed up a map.

His mother.

He was still confused about why she would let him wander off into the forest where anything could happen. For all he knew, this forest could contain animals capable of decapitating ones head. Just the thought of it made Lancelot shiver.

But something told Lancelot that his mother sent him off more than just the reason of "understanding the world better". He felt like there was something his parents weren't telling him.

Before he could start thinking of the possibilities, his stomach got caught in a branch. He cried and out of reflex, pushed the branch away from him. It gave a snap and fell in front of his feet.

Lancelot stared down at it as if it was the branch's fault that Lancelot ran into it. After giving it a stern stare-down, Lancelot marched right over it triumphantly.

As Lancelot was about to continue down the path, he bumped himself into a big, black tree. In frustration, Lancelot kicked the tree with all his might. In response, the tree jumped backwards and sat in place once again.

Lancelot blinked, unsure of what he just saw. Slowly, he lifted his head until his eyes met with eight blood-shot ones.

This wasn't a tree; it was a huge, hairy, disgusting-

"Spider," Lancelot finished his thought out loud.

Lancelot bit down a scream and froze in place. He always thought that spiders were silly, the way they would crawl and set up a cobweb in the cupboard when there were obviously no other bugs for it to catch, but now that he was looking at one three times as big as a horse, he finally realized how extremely repulsive these creatures were.

The spider glared at Lancelot with beady red eyes as a gel substance began to foam through its fangs. Lancelot sneered in disgust and broke out of his paralyzed stance. Though it has certainly surprising to see something like this, he still wasn't afraid of it.

Lancelot reached inside his bag and pulled out a curved-bladed dagger. Unlike most children, Lancelot knew how to defend himself.

"Now Lancey, remember everything your father taught you and don't get hurt." Lancelot believed that his mother was the only person who could look so loving and sweet, even when she was handing her son a wicked dagger.

Lancelot slid sideways as the spider made its first attempt to attack. Lancelot kept the blade firmly in his palm, looking for a possible weakness in the beast.

Always aim for the vulnerable part. That's what his father taught him. Lancelot back flipped as the spider leaned forward to take another snap at him. There was no time for him to do acrobats; he had to kill this thing, fast.

He examined his opponent. Eight legs, eight eyes, fangs: this could be more difficult than he thought.

The spider crawled quickly towards Lancelot, but Lancelot was faster. As the spider was about to open up its fangs, Lancelot dove under it and came up behind its abdomen.

Suddenly, something came across Lancelot's mind, something the old librarian told him.

"Did you know that the spider's heart is in the abdomen? It runs along the top, near its skin."

Lancelot smiled, remembering how excited he was when learning about the fascinating fact. Now, he was able to put it into good use.

Before the spider was able to turn around, Lancelot jumped on top of the spider's abdomen and stabbed where its heart was.

Instead of stopping, the spider only seemed to be angrier. It whipped around, throwing Lancelot and his dagger into a tree with full impact. Lancelot collapsed and fell to the ground. With his head still spinning, he grabbed at the ground, trying to find his dagger. When he felt a hard object, he picked up, certain he found his weapon. When his vision came back, he realized that it was the branch he snapped off of the tree.

Lancelot decided that the branch was long enough to completely stick threw the spider's heart. Forgetting about the previous blade, Lancelot leaped onto the confused spider and thrust the branch into its upper abdomen.

The spider produced a horrific screech, and squirmed frantically. With one last jolt, the spider dropped and made no more movement.

Lancelot lifted the blood-soaked branch from the dead spider and stared at it. For the first time, Lancelot thought of the stick as a powerful weapon.

He looked around and caught sight of the dagger. He swiftly slid down the corpse and made his way to the weapon. He remembered how the blacksmith would scrape off bits of metal from the new sword, making sure that it would be as perfect as any other. If the blacksmith could do it, then Lancelot could do it too.

Lancelot grabbed hold of the dagger and began carving, carving a sword of his own creation.


End file.
